


Between the Hunt

by ToastedPetals



Category: Supernatural
Genre: John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, Young Dean Winchester, Young Sam Winchester, Young Winchesters (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:33:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28863351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastedPetals/pseuds/ToastedPetals
Summary: When John Winchester goes on a hunt, the boys don't dare play.Tags to be added as the story progresses to avoid spoilers.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

“Dean?”

Dean cracked an eye open, looking up at his alarm clock. Nearly quarter past one. He groaned and rubbed his eyes. This was the fifth night in a row. 

“What is it, Sammy? Another nightmare?”

Sam shook his head, pulling on the pyjama tshirt he was wearing. “I’m cold…” he mumbled, clearly feeling bad he had woken Dean up. 

But Dean had a different problem. 

Their dad was on another hunting trip and had once again only given Dean the bare minimum to keep them going. Just enough for food and little else. But they had just moved from southern Texas to northern Nebraska in November and Sam had needed new clothes for school. Warmer clothes. Dean had had some money saved from the last few times their dad had left so he had bought Sam new jeans and a new winter coat and boots and Dean had bought himself a couple of sweaters from the Salvation Army. It wasn’t like he was going to get bullied at school with hand-me-downs, but Sam was a nerd. And unfortunately nerds get bullied. He had needed new stuff. 

And now the money was basically gone. Ten bucks left and he didn’t know when John would be back. One box of cereal, two tins of beans, a bag of pasta, and a single tin of tomatoes. Not even a carton of milk. 

Sam didn’t know any of this of course. Dean was good at rationing and thankfully, Sam was on a vegan kick, so the lack of milk for cereal didn’t bother him. He just hoped it was a phase because vegetables were expensive… 

He got up and grabbed one of his new sweaters and pulled it on over the twelve year old’s head. “Come on, Sammy, in you get,” he said, getting back into bed and holding the duvet up for him to get under the covers with him. Sam grinned in relief and immediately cuddled into him for warmth. 

Just as Dean’s eyes started to drift closed again, Sam shifted around to shake him. 

“What, Sam.” It wasn’t a question anymore and it certainly wasn’t as patient. 

“Can I read for a bit?”

“No, Sam, go to sleep.”

“Please, I can’t sleep without reading..”

Jesus, Dean could hear the puppy eyes. “Fine,” he said, giving in. “One chapter, then sleep. You got school in the morning.”

“We got school in the morning,” Sam corrected, grabbing his book off Dean’s nightstand where he’d left it from the night before. 

  
  
“If you wanna read, you better stop correcting me,” he said as Sam’s turned onto his side to read. This meant Dean was basically spooning him, tucking his face into Sam’s back to hide from the light that Sam needed to read. He was asleep again in minutes. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean heard a click. 

He sat up wide awake and checked the clock, barely breathing. Half four in the morning. Sam was still reading, engrossed in his book. He hadn’t heard a thing. 

“Where are you going?” Sam asked in a whisper as Dean climbed over him to get out of the single bed.

Dean put a finger to his lips and grabbed his shotgun that was lying under his bed. He sneaked out of the room as quietly as he could, gun at the ready but pointed slightly towards the ground. He didn’t want to shoot some human burglar by accident. 

Walking down the short hall, he held his breath. He couldn’t hear anything anymore. Had he imagined it?

As he rounded the corner, a hand reached out of the darkness and tore the gun out of his hands, turned it around, using the butt of the gun to hit him in the cheek hard. He fell to the ground hard, banging his shoulder against the wall and the light switched on. 

“What have I told you about hesitating, Dean? Don’t hesitate. Never hesitate. You know what happened last time you hesitated.”

Dean was seeing stars but flinched, recognising the voice. “Dad?”

“Get up. Again,” John said, turning away from him. 

Was he running him through a drill now? Really, now? Dean sighed and dragged himself to his feet. He could barely see straight, holding his hand to the wall to keep himself steady as his dad handed him back the gun. 

“Dean are you- Dad?” Sam's voice came from the end of the hall. He was holding his book, finger keeping his place (he never turned down the page corners. That was desecration of books in his opinion), in his bare feet, Dean’s sweater swamping him. John didn’t even look at him. 

“Morning Sammy,” John said. “Back to bed, you have school in the morning.”

“We have school in the morning,” Sam corrected. “Dean has to go too.”

“He’d be going too if he hadn’t messed up and ended up with a black eye, right, Dean?” John said, mixing himself a whiskey, not looking at either of them now.

“Yessir,” Dean said sitting on one of the kitchen chairs, holding his cheek with a cold hand and just plain ignoring his shoulder. God, he was so angry with himself. Keep a hold of your damn gun, Dean, it’s not that hard. If he’d kept a hold of the gun, he could have-- could have what? Shot his dad? A shotgun blast from that close range would have torn his dad apart. He chewed on his lip, his chest going cold from what he’d almost done. 

Sam huffed and went back to bed, the only words of argument coming to his head being a lot of curses and he was not in the mood for opening that can of worms in the middle of a chapter. He climbed back into the warm bed, angrily turning the page and reading with hot tears in his eyes and waited for Dean to come back to bed so he could ask if he was okay. He wanted to protect his older brother, the way he protected him, but he knew if started hurling fuck you’s at his dad, it would only make the situation worse and end up with Dean in more trouble than he was in now. This was the only thing he could do and not land Dean in more hot water. He hated this.

Meanwhile in the kitchen/living room, Dean was waiting for his dad to tell him what to do, if they were actually going to start again, but John sat heavily at the kitchen table opposite Dean with his bottle of whiskey. It was only now that Dean could smell the stale smell of smoke and the fresh smell of tequila. Of course, as everyone knew, whiskey was the best chaser for tequila. John looked at him for the first time, at the red spot on Dean’s cheek that would no doubt turn into a nasty bruise. 

“Are you okay, Dad? What was it? A werewolf?” Dean asked. 

John shook his head. “Poltergeist. What’s a poltergeist, Dean?” He asked, testing him.

“Uhh… spirit-y thing… that really wants attention?” Dean offered, honestly only taking the knowledge from the film. He hadn’t a clue what a poltergeist was.

John shrugged and nodded. “Close enough,” he said and poured a glass of whiskey and slid it over the table to Dean. “It’s a type of spirit that’s in so much distress it becomes a poltergeist. Tough to kill. Very tough to kill.”

“Did it hurt you?” Dean asked, sipping the whiskey.

“Nothing a few days’ rest won’t cure,” John replied, refilling his glass. He shucked his jacket and Dean noticed some blood on the sleeve of his dad’s shirt. 

“Dad, you’re bleeding, do you want me to stitch it or clean it?” He was getting pretty decent at stitching cuts. One of his dad’s most recent ones had barely left a scar. 

But John ignored him, favouring his whiskey. “Got any money left for me?”

“Couple of bucks, should I get it now?” 

“Go out and get me a pack of smokes, will you, boy?” John asked, getting up and going to the sofa. He turned on the TV and lay down, turning on some Western that was playing on a late night TV channel. 

Dean nodded and went to get dressed. He opened the door quietly and sighed when he noticed the light still on. Sam sat up in bed, looking worried but still angry. He watched Dean start to get dressed. He slammed his book closed and got out of bed. 

“Well?”

“Well what, Sam?” Dean said as he pulled on his jeans. He sounded too tired to deal with this right now.

“Why did he hit you, for one. Where are you going, if you want two!” He hissed.

“I’m going to get him a pack of cigarettes,” Dean said, not looking at him. 

“You don’t care! You don’t care that he hit you! You don’t give a shit!”

Dean just laughed at him. "Since when do you swear, huh? Don't let dad hear you."

"Oh… piss off…" Sam swore and climbed back into Dean's bed and turned out the light, too angry to read. 

Dean finished getting dressed in the dark and pulled on his dad's leather jacket, his coolest and most recent gift from his dad the Christmas before. The jacket was older than he was. It barely fit him, but just the smell made him feel like a proper grown up. He patted the pockets to make sure he had the money and his keys and made his way to the twenty-four hour store at the end of the street.

Dean was gone less than five minutes when Sam realised Dean had made him angry just long enough to leave and do what John said. 

He. Had. Been. Played. 

He hated having an older brother sometimes...


End file.
